


Birthday Presents

by Stranger



Series: Shire Reckoning 1412 [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multiple Relationships, pipe smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 06:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stranger/pseuds/Stranger
Summary: The night before Frodo's 44th birthday (and Bilbo's 122nd), Frodo and Merry talk while Sam and Pippin do the washing up.





	Birthday Presents

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place 21-22 September 1412 (Shire Reckoning).
> 
> Written 2002.

The night before Frodo's 44th birthday (and Bilbo's 122nd), Frodo and Merry sat in the parlor off the best dining room where Pippin and Sam were still filling in corners with morsels of duck and jam and custard. Frodo exchanged tales from Hobbiton and Bywater for more of the news from Buckland while he held a glass of Old Winyards and watched Merry smoke his pipe and enjoyed the feeling of having friends about him quite as much as the wine or the talk about the flavor of the year's earliest pears and apples, about Uncle Merrimac's cream spice-bread recipe, about Berilac whose recent behavior had caused Amaryllis Goold to look askance at him after being as good as handfasted for months.

"It's not Liss so much, you understand," said Merry, "as Aunt Menegilda, who was a Goold before she was Berilac's grandmother. _She's_ askance. Liss is waiting for Berry, but she and all of us thought he'd left his tweens behind, and here he is recalling them with... well..."

"With Pippin?" asked Frodo. "I am glad you brought him away here with you, if he's causing trouble at Brandy Hall."

"It wasn't Pippin but the once," said Merry, exhaling a cloud of pipe-smoke. "Then it was Calce and Willa and Etheric, and Willa again, and that put Aunt Menegilda into an upset."

Frodo felt his eyebrows rise as he stared at his cousin, in lieu of the absent Berilac. "I see she might have cause to wonder. I'm hardly in a position to cluck over him, but it's a change in the weather."

"Just so," said Merry. "He'll settle down again when he comes of age." He glanced quickly at Frodo. "You didn't, my dear cousin, but you're a disreputable Baggins and your own master in any case." Bag End's snug best front parlor circled them in warmth and Baggins family portraits and the bittersweet scents of pipeweed and the cherrywood fire.

Frodo chose not to answer that, instead sipping from his wineglass, appreciating the memory of duck and dumplings and asparagus sauce and a well-egged custard pie with jam. Presently Merry said, "Speaking of tween-aged hobbits, is Pippin still eating?"

"He might be clearing the table," said Frodo without much conviction. "Sam was going to see to something in the kitchen for tomorrow's party before he'd come in for a pipe with us. Perhaps they're in there."

"Only if Pip's finished the dumplings as well as the rest of the pie," said Merry. "That was excellent custard, by the way."

"Thank you. One of Sam's relations put up the jam. It makes a good, round pie, doesn't it? Perhaps we should look in there again." Frodo set down his glass. "Sam will clear away the dishes soon if we don't do it."

The dining-table was half cleared, but before they could cross to the kitchen they heard Sam's tread and Pippin's voice beyond the doorway: "Hullo, Sam. Is there a bite of the duck left for me in here?"

Still in the dining room, Frodo paused for no reason he could name, and Merry paused with him.

"There's one bite," said Sam, "and then it'll be time to start the washing-up, I'm thinking."

"Oh, Sam, sit down and eat the rest of this lovely jam with me. You hardly said anything at dinner while Merry was telling tales of Buckland from all the past month."

"He tells a fine tale."

"He tells the news beautifully, but I've heard it. What's been happening here, Sam?"

Frodo could just see Sam and Pippin through the narrow oval of the edgewise doorframe, sitting together on the kitchen bench. 

Sam licked the spoon they were sharing. "The garden's bearing nicely for so early in the fall. Mr. Frodo likes the marigolds especially this year, and that pleases my sister Marigold. She's up here some days doing the flowers with me, and he gives her tea and stories as often as not. But he's been a bit quiet lately, except for the occasional walk to Bywater and back."

"Frodo, quiet?" The visible part of Pippin's nose tilted sideways away from the now-laden jam spoon, then back.

"Quieter than a scamp of a Took lad," said Sam. "Quiet in comparison, you might say."

"Sam, haven't you heard any new stories or haven't you any tales of yourself to tell me?"

"There's not much to tell," said Sam. "The garden is busy, and that keeps me content for the season."

"Oh, Sam." Pippin's voice was full of care, almost concern. "Sam, you're such a good hobbit." He pulled Sam closer on the bench, almost out of Frodo's narrow slice of view. There was a little rustling and a clink of spoon in jam-jar.

"Pippin," said Sam, his intonation odd to Frodo's ear. 

Frodo glanced at Merry, who'd been listening to the mostly-commonplace exchange as well, and saw Merry's eyes widen. "Pip's flirting with _Sam_ ," he breathed at Frodo, and then shrugged as if to say: It's your house. You do something.

Frodo eased back from the doorway and any possibility of interrupting the pair in the kitchen. "Sam will send him on his way with perfect kindness," he mouthed in return, although hearing and nearly seeing it was a shock. Had he ever sounded like that to Sam? Surely not like that!

But Sam didn't speak for a long moment. After another subdued slide and rustle of cloth, he said, "Pippin... little Pippin, you're not trying to... you can't..."

"Yes I can," said Pippin. "You're my friend, Sam. I've always liked you. I'd like to kiss you again." 

There was no further protest and a soft sound that might have been kissing.

Frodo stared at a watercolor one of Bilbo's grandparents had painted of a fish pie dressed with blueberries and parsley. "I didn't think he'd do that," he whispered, not really to Merry. The heart-squeezing shock only lasted a moment, but he felt hollow despite the duck and dumplings and custard and wine.

Merry pulled him back into the parlor and to the fireplace seat, which was small enough to be cozy for the two of them. "Do you mean Pippin? You can't think he wouldn't do exactly what his whim tells him. You should know what he's like." Merry's pipe was still smouldering on an earthenware plate on the hearth and he picked it up. When Frodo, still numb, didn't say anything, he went on, "I do know who gave Pip his first tumble, and not so very long ago."

"But, Sam!" said Frodo, unable to say anything more, unable to explain the sudden hollow feeling in words. 

"He likes Pip as much as any of us. He's known him as long as you and I have. He'll know the lad is playing the tween. Sam's still a tween himself." 

"Sam is..." _Mine_ , he wanted to say, but Sam wasn't. It wouldn't have been proper, and both of them knew it. Pippin the tween could play his games with Sam, but the master of Bag End could not. Frodo sighed and tried to relax under Merry's circling arm. "I'm glad Sam is a friend to him."

Merry looked at him. "I saw you taken aback when we first heard them. Remember, whatever they do, they're just playing tweens."

"I'm not. I won't be." He smiled at Merry, trying to feel the pleasure of knowing two friends were happy. Frodo _was_ glad Sam loved someone he loved. Sam, too, had been almost worryingly quiet this season. "It looks as though we'll have to do the washing-up after all."

"Don't count on it," said Merry. "Not just yet, at any rate. Are we in a hurry?"

"I suppose we'd best give them some time to get away," said Frodo, hoping it sounded light. He remembered his glass of wine on the parlor table and retrieved it, grateful for the warmth of the fire and his cousin's good sense. "Would you be kind enough to stay with me tonight?"

Merry paused in the act of relighting his pipe, the small coal-tongs in hand. "You know I will, but what do you mean?" 

Frodo stared into the fire. "I don't know quite what I want. Nothing active, unless you'd rather. I'm glad you're here for my birthday."

"I am too," said Merry, and set one arm around him again. 

The dining room, when they went back through it some time later, was neat and clean, and the kitchen sparkled except for some water spots on the window and rather more wet dish-towels than one person might have needed. Merry snickered. "I thought so. Sam had him share the washing-up, and Pippin did it! The last time that lad had his hands in dishwater was when Aunt Juniper Took-Billings caught him eating her breakfast."

The vision of Pippin being escorted into a kitchen by The Took's redoubtable and elderly sister made Frodo smile without having to try. Perhaps a helping of the conscientious Sam would be good for Pippin in more ways than one.

# # # 

Frodo held onto Merry through the night, and the sleeping warmth was a comfort of sorts. Somewhere between sleep and dreams Frodo heard Merry's voice above his head: "I'd have to be blind not to see you love Sam, and for more than a tumble."

"Maybe we're both blind in the dark," said Frodo.

"Better blind in the dark than in the daylight."

"Sam has been a servant here almost since before he was born. I can't ask him for that. I can tell Sam anything, you know, about anything else. Bilbo could, too. But not that."

"You're too nice by half, Frodo. I only say it in the dark, mind."

"You know it wouldn't be right."

"I know folk would say it isn't right. That's not always the same."

"Close enough," said Frodo.

"It's not the same," insisted Merry. "Go to sleep and think about it. I'll take Pippin back to Tookland after the party. I just hope Uncle Paladin won't cut off all relations with Brandy Hall when he sees what we've made his little Peregrin into over the summer." 

"Little Peregrin has to grow up sometime. Don't leave early. Let them have their fun. Sam hasn't had much but the garden to do lately, and he works too much."

"You're too kind for your own good." 

"No, I'm not," said Frodo. He curled closer around Merry and let the even breathing at his ear and the warm chest beneath his head lull him to sleep. 

He woke one year older and nearly at peace with himself and his cousins.

# # # 

Pippin appeared at first breakfast, bright-eyed and far too pleased with himself.

"Did you have a nice night?" inquired Frodo, buttering a muffin. Sam was clattering pans in the kitchen in preparation for a birthday dinner for two dozen Bolgers and Boffins and Bagginses and even a few unrelated friends, and had been since long before Frodo had fetched muffins and butter and a new jar of jam and the things to make tea for the rest of them. 

"Very nice, thank you," said Pippin, and concentrated on heaping jam on his own muffin.

"And Sam?"

Pippin looked up at him in surprise.

"Don't make Sam unhappy, Pip. That's all I want to say."

"I won't," said Pippin, eyes more thoughtful than they had been. "That is, I don't mean to. That is..." He paused for a large bite, chewed and swallowed. "What doesn't make Sam happy?"

Frodo smiled. "I don't know. You two did a good job on the dishes last night."

Merry made a noise as if he'd swallowed too much at once, and began sipping carefully at his tea.

Pippin's smile turned sly. "Sam showed me how it's easy with two of us."

Merry choked on the tea and overturned his cup and had to be patted on the back, and by the time the tea was cleaned up, he needed a new napkin. 

Frodo sighed as he went to the pantry for another napkin and the tea cannister. He didn't feel older today, but he didn't feel young any more either. Behind him, he heard Merry whisper something at Pippin that probably wasn't about tea. 

He didn't listen. 

He went back by way of the kitchen. Sam was sitting on a stool at the wooden work table, boning a chicken and two smaller birds for the nested-creature centerpiece for the feast. Frodo looked at the array of bowls and spice-jars around the big roasting-pan on the table and said, "That looks like a lot of work. I'll be in soon to carve the onions and radishes, and anything else you can spare for me to do."

"Just as you please, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo leaned back against a cupboard, watching Sam's clever hands and the well-honed knife. "If Pippin is a bother to you, be sure to tell me. He's a dear lad and he means well and he's not always old enough for his britches." 

Sam blinked up at him from the depths of a game-hen and then went back to removing bits of it with great attention, keeping his eyes on it and not on Frodo. "I like him right enough. You noticed us last night, did you? I know he's a Took and all, but he's..." At this point, Sam finally blushed.

"I'd be a fool to say you shouldn't keep company with your friends, as long as that's how you feel about Pippin."

Sam blushed deeper. "I shouldn't say anything more, Mr. Frodo. Not here and not now. I thank'ee for making sure I'm well."

"Dear Sam," said Frodo, quietly. "I can't be everything I want, but you make me happy when you're well and happy. Remember that."

"Thank'ee, Mr. Frodo. Happy birthday to you."

"Yes," said Frodo. "It's not a bad day so far."

# # # 


End file.
